You and Himeko were never supposed to become anything.

She was sixteen—brilliant, burning, too young to understand the weight of forever. You were twenty-two—old enough to know better, old enough to draw lines, old enough to feel guilty every time your heart tripped over her smile.

But the universe has cruel timing.

What started as mentorship, companionship, harmless closeness… twisted into something neither of you dared to name. Late calls, shared secrets, trembling confessions spoken between breaths. The kind of intimacy that feels like touching a star—close enough to warm you, far enough to destroy you.

People called you friends. Partners in research. Allies.

But you knew better.

There were moments—fleeting, fragile—where she reached for your hand, and you didn’t pull away. Where her voice softened on your name. Where her eyes lingered with a longing too raw to ignore.

You crossed emotional lines. Not physical ones. Never physical. You wouldn’t let yourself.

So you made the only choice that felt moral.

You left.

You put oceans and months between you. You let the messages fade. You forced distance like a tourniquet—hoping the feelings would starve.

But they didn’t.

Because every night you missed her voice. Her curiosity. Her warmth. The way she believed in you like no one else ever had.

And she never stopped reaching out—little updates, quiet goodnights, voice messages recorded in starlight. She never accused you. Never begged. She just… waited. Like she knew you’d come back eventually.

You told yourself you were strong enough to move on.

But one evening—after months of pretending—you finally broke.

You typed her name. Hit call. Held your breath.

Her face appeared on the screen—older somehow, sharper, steadier—but still her. Still Himeko. Still the girl who once burned holes through your resolve just by looking at you.

She smiled softly, like she’d been expecting this. Like she’d been expecting you.

“Hey,” she said. “It’s been a while.”